Smalltime (Part Three)
I looked back and forth between the Ringer and Tough Customer for what felt like eons, though it only really lasted maybe a second or two. The Ringer had his hand raised toward Tough Customer in defense, ready to snap his powers into oblivion. Naturally, I felt obligated to protect my colleague. As if acting in reflex, I stood up quickly, propelled by the force of my aerokinetic abilities, lifted my right hand and quickly pinned the Ringer to the wall, using wrist restraints I had hastily created from some of the carbon dioxide in the air. I spread his fingers apart from each other, so he’d have no way of snapping his fingers and rendering either me or Tough Customer powerless. Then, with my left hand, I projected a wave of anxiety straight into the Ringer’s mind. I could see tears well up in his eyes as I did this. As a matter of fact, I’d been doing this the entire time I was in the room, which was why I’d gotten such a response from him moments earlier. He hadn’t displayed such emotions when Morinth or the others had questioned him before I arrived. That’s why they needed me. After a good thirty seconds of this, I stopped beaming anxiety into the Ringer’s head, released the CO2 back into the air, and dropped the Ringer to the floor. He fell hard onto his side, crying still, not looking up at me or Tough Customer, who had looked on the entire time almost in a state of shock. “Tell me you didn’t turn him into a vegetable,” Tough Customer said. “Not at all,” I replied. “All I did was try to free him from a lifetime’s worth of fear and stress.” I picked Oldstrong’s lighter up from the table and walked over to the Ringer, kneeling down and sitting him up against the wall. He didn’t look at me. All he did was stare into the lone incandescent light hanging from a lamp over the table, as if it cleansed his soul of all his past misdeeds. I reached into his jacket, pulled out his pack of Pall Malls, put one in his mouth and lit it for him. “How did you know?” he asked. “How did I know about what?” I asked in return. “My power. My power to take powers from others. How did you know?” “It says it in your file over there,” I said. Tears streamed from his face. “That little fucking snitch,” he said, referring to someone I had yet to learn of. “Well, the secret’s out. There goes my element of surprise.” He let out another pained laugh before taking a drag on his cigarette and closing his eyes. It wouldn’t be until later that I’d find out his move against Tough Customer was a bluff, and that the Ringer could only take away someone’s powers once a week. “The offer to help us stands, Mr. Ballentine,” I said. “Would you be willing to take it?” He opened his eyes, looked at me and said one word: “No.” “You may not get this chance again. My friends are far less forgiving than I am.” “No.” “Please, Elihu… I’ve done everything I could to try and help you…” “My final answer is no.” I sighed, stood up, dropped the pack of cigarettes and picked the case file up off the table. I patted Tough Customer on the back before leaving the interrogation room, entering the hallway once again. The first thing I saw was Morinth, leaning against the back wall, looking rather pale, and holding her knuckles, which appeared to be bleeding. “Daytime does this sort of thing to me,” she said. “I used up my last bit of strength on the window over there.” She gave me a half smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, then,” I said, trying to sound playfully sarcastic, but coming off as defeated instead. I handed the case file to Duchachis and tossed the lighter back to Oldstrong, and was just about to leave before I turned back and asked the three how they knew about the Ringer’s power. “You know Buck, right?” Chris asked me. “Yeah, I know Buck. Buck’s a friend,” I said. “Well, he picked up a kid on the street a few days ago, seemed real shaken up, beaten to shit and all that. He sent him our way once he found out the Ringer had gone and stole his powers, too. Kid’s name is Tommy. He’s in Room C if you want to see him.” I stepped over to Room C and saw the kid. The lighting in that room appeared to be a little dimmer, but it was clear that Tommy looked worse than the Ringer did. His face was swollen, from both the beating he sustained and the days of crying he’d gone through. This is what the Ringer was capable of. He didn’t just take his powers—he broke the man. On my way out, Chris slipped me a 500 spoon note for my effort. I didn’t really feel accomplished, but I took the money anyway. I tried my best under the circumstances, after all. It was 10 A.M. when I got back to my office. I got myself another mug of coffee, fixed some food and powered up my computer again. That’s when I realized I’d gone pretty much nowhere over the course of a few hours. Sure, I was 500 spoons richer, but what did I care? All I did that morning was reduce a man to tears, and for what? So he could still decide to rot in a jail cell? I thought I’d finally be able to do something good and worthwhile with my abilities but no. I fucked myself into a hole. I was worse off than having to go back to square one. For the rest of that day, and late into the night, all I did was stare at my blank computer screen, before locking the door and crying myself to sleep. I had expected the bigtime, but what I got was the opposite. END OF PART THREE Smalltime written by Mister Z CLICK HERE for PART ONE CLICK HERE for PART TWO CLICK HERE for PART FOUR CLICK HERE for PART FIVE CLICK HERE for PART SIX